A Delicate Refusal by T.T. Thomas

Author:T.T. Thomas [Thomas, T.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bon View Publishing
Published: 2013-07-02T21:00:00+00:00

***

Jan glanced around the room as though looking for an exit. Leave. Now.

She walked briskly across the room and out the door. In the parlor, she grabbed her brolly from the holder and her raincoat from the coat stand. The moment she felt the cool rush of damp air she took off running. She heard the keys to the Mercedes jangling in her pocket, so she stopped, turned around, walked back toward the house and tossed them up on the top step. Then she turned around and began running again.

She ran, sometimes fast, mostly slowly, all the way to the coach station. Twice the rain fell but she didn't bother to put up her umbrella. She discovered the next bus was not due to depart for Tadley for nearly an hour, an hour spent pacing up and down, her nerves on edge, her anxiety palpable. She wanted it to come before anyone thought to stop her. Not that anyone would. Finally she was on the coach. She slumped back into a seat, one of only three people in the car.

The realizations, and their implications, hit her like blows to the head. Your mum is not your mum. Your neighbor is your mum. But even she can't like you, or she would have told you. Victoria is dead and you pretended to be her to save Rosie's feelings. Now Rosie hates you too. Too? Yes. And Margaret? She knew since the beginning, most likely. That's how this so-called job came up in the first place! So, how much could she have really cared about you? Wait! How long has Rosie known? All along. She knew all along. Pity—that's what they all gave me. And Mother? Well, the one she called Mother?

That question stopped Jan. It was a blur of betrayal and bad feelings all around. So, who was her father? She shook her head to clear out the tangle of relationships jumping up and down to get her attention. Mother and Mrs. Graham. Or Hope Jameson and Mother. What a ridiculous—what were they thinking? Way back when all this was decided? And why? What other lies were they hiding? And what did her poor father know, or was he her father? She didn't look like him. She didn't look like her mother, either. Well, maybe a bit, the eyes, the nose. But how could that be? She couldn't look like either of them in this case, not really!

But she didn't look one bit like Beatrice Graham. Or her sister Margaret, heaven forbid. Not nice. No, but there you have it.

Jan's thoughts were all over the place. What did everyone want from her? A flash of insight stunned her: They wanted her to be what they themselves could not be.

These people have silenced me into compliance. I shall comply with their innermost wishes and disappear—they thought they wanted me in their lives, but they don't. Not really. I remind them. Of what? Of their errors? Of their bad judgments? Of who they want to be?

I will finally give them all what they want.

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